


hold me {like you held onto life}

by alexswriting



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Canon Compliant - From Baptism of Fire, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Polyamory Is Implied, Slice of Life, There Will Be Sex On Some Chapters, There Will Be Violence On Some Chapters, Yennefer/Geralt is Implied
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:20:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24647857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexswriting/pseuds/alexswriting
Summary: [Canon Compliant -- from Baptism of Fire onwards]Slices of life. Ergo: bits and pieces of the Hansa's travels. In which Geralt and Regis go from companions to friends to lovers. Includes soft chapters, explicit chapters, angst chapters, and whatever else. The title belongs to HIM'sVampire Heart.
Relationships: Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 29
Kudos: 73





	1. 1.

**Author's Note:**

> Geralt and Regis belong to A. Sapkowski. My heart, however, clearly belongs to them. The basic idea of this project is to throw together a bunch of one-shots with a linear friends-to-lovers pattern, all set in book canon. As of now I have only read up to Baptism of Fire, so my chapters will all be placed somewhere around the events in BoF. As I progress, I may add chapters placed during Tower of the Swallow or Lady of the Lake. We'll see. For reference, [this](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EaF4CvVWkAExBCL?format=jpg&name=small) is how I picture Regis.
> 
> A note: I'm currently working a lot for university exams, so my updates will probably be quite far apart from one another. I'm sorry in advance and I hope you have the pleasure to read all the same. ❤️

« You weren’t obligated to share. »  
Geralt sat beside his comrade, keeping watch. Night had long fallen in the forest and, despite Milva’s best efforts to stay awake and on guard, Dandelion’s blabbering about helping or Cahir’s military experience in taking night turns, they all had eventually accepted it was safe to get some rest. Regis turned to smile at the Witcher. A wide smile, for once. One he hadn’t disclosed willingly to the group, not even after his identity had been revealed.  
« Oh, but I wanted to share. » Regis’s voice was as quiet as possible, and calm as ever. His eyes, though, shone in the moonlight with a liveliness his words didn’t disclose. « Now tell me — and be honest — how long had you known? »  
Geralt smiled softly. He’d expected the question.  
« Ever since you refused to drink the mandrake moonshine. I suspected alcohol, though. »  
« I figured. You were the only one to compliment me on my, if I remember correctly, dedication. »  
« You’re not the first former addict I meet along the road. » _Not the only vampire either_ , he thought, but then again there was no need to say that. Regis was well aware of the blood of vampiric creatures lying on the Witcher’s hands. « You’re the only one I’ve known who quit abruptly, though. That must have taken bravery. »  
« Being stuck in a grave for fifty years helped in that matter. » Regis’s answer came with another wide smile. It occurred to Geralt that he ought to have been cautious, if not scared. Decades of work had trained him to stay alert at the sight of non-human creatures. Particularly if said non-humans came with deadly teeth and the ability to turn into giant, horrific bats with slashing fangs. Still, he found no trace of vigilance in himself. On the contrary, he felt honored. Regis didn’t dare smiling with his teeth bared to anyone else in the company.  
« My congratulations are still valid. »  
« Perhaps you should congratulate yourself, too. »  
« What do you mean? »  
Regis looked at him in his own insufferable, know-it-all way. « Come now, Geralt. The famous White Wolf, working alone. Travelling alone. Living alone, from the very start up until the very end. You made yourself a reputation for being utterly independent, even from your own pack. It’s said that Witchers spend their winters up in Kaer Mohren, but not Geralt of Rivia. »  
« I suppose », Geralt snorted, « That there’s a point to your monologue, vampire. »  
« Yes, there is. You had a reputation for your loneliness. You thrived in it. Until — you met a certain sorceress, and then a certain young girl, and now look at yourself, travelling among a company of friends. It seems to me you’re quitting your own addiction. »  
Geralt smiled. It was the kind of politely sarcastic smile he reserved for people who would understand he was being utterly ironic. « Interesting analysis, Regis. But I’m not, as you imply, addicted to being alone. »  
« As you say. Still, if you won’t congratulate yourself on your progress, I will. »  
He considered the idea of shielding himself with sarcasm again. Of not accepting the praise that was given to him. Of ignoring the whole topic entirely. For some reason he didn’t fully understand, he threw the possibility away.  
« Thank you », he answered instead. « I was gonna ask », he said then, after a moment of silence, « How you manage. I’ve seen you treat serious injuries, Regis. Injuries that involved a great deal of blood. Is it not — heavy? ». _Professional curiosity_ , he told himself. _I am asking for professional curiosity_. But it was the middle of the night and Regis was looking at him with a softness in his gaze, and it wasn’t hard to admit that professionality had nothing to do with his questions nor with his wish to spend his time awake just to be closer to a five-hundred-years-old vampire.  
« Let me guess, I’m not obligated to answer. »  
« Of course you’re not. But you’ll probably want to, even though I’m not sure why. »  
« It’s actually simple. Out of trust. »  
« Trust », Geralt replied, « Is not something Witchers are usually allowed to receive. »  
« Nor vampires, usually. However — it has gotten easier with time. I don’t think it’ll ever be entirely painless. I still smell blood with a higher sensitivity than humans. I still feel an itch, even though I’ve long learned not to act upon it. Most of all, I still experience flashbacks. I suppose that’s the hardest part. But no, dealing with blood doesn’t make me go feral anymore. In a way, I guess it would be harder if I didn’t work the way I do. Being exposed to injuries in a, let’s say, healthier way reminds me of where I want to be and where I don’t want to be. If I ignored the existence of humans or blood entirely, I would never be able to come to think of it as anything else than a temptation. »  
Geralt thought of a hundred ways to answer. He found none that expressed his respect, and stayed silent. They both did — and they enjoyed such silence for hours, under the moonlight, in a mutual understanding that made sense to them and them only.


	2. 2.

The witcher rarely ever fell in love. In fact he had deeply, truly fallen in love just once before. And he knew from his decades of experience that once he developed feelings for someone, by the love of all the gods, they never went away.  
His relationship with Yennefer was one of a kind. He could've stayed apart from her for a thousand years and yet come back to her. Not many understood it. He didn’t need it to be understood. What was even more unique — and even more disconcerting to an external point of view — was their peculiar non-monogamy. The sorceress would have been ready to burn any individual who even dared lay one single unwanted gaze on him, but the moment he showed interest in someone, oh, she was his first, passionate supporter. _She would have a hell of a laugh reading my thoughts right now_ , he considered.  
The situation was indeed ridiculous. As it often happened, it had taken a call-out from Dandelion for Geralt to understand his own emotions. And it hadn’t been a nice experience.  
« So », the bard had started — and nothing good came of sentences starting like that —, « How come you two spend every night awake talking? I mean, I can’t speak for vampires, but I’m pretty sure witchers do need to rest at some point. »  
Geralt had grunted. He was right, of course, and yet lately he’d found himself preferring hours on hours of talk with Regis to some natural, healthy sleep. It had started right after the vampire’s revelation about his past addiction and then it had just become a habit. « We’ve been discussing things », he’d answered.  
« Things, such as? ». He hadn’t liked Dandelion’s tone. Not one bit.  
« _Things_ , Dandelion, such as philosophical discourse that would bore you to death. Among other topics: the nature of higher vampires, the mutations of witchers, addictions and psychological diseases in non-humans or mutated humans, the use of herbs in witchers’ elixirs, and so on. » It wasn’t a lie. What he’d omitted was how understood, how respected, how valiable and _utterly seen_ he’d feel while talking with Regis. It should have been nonsense for the pure reason that he was a goddamn monster hunter. _And yet_.  
« Ah, I see. Old men talk. »  
Geralt had shot him a look. « Get to the point. »  
Dandelion smiled brightly. « If you’re asking. Okay, the point, my friend, is that I have only seen you waste time, energy and sleep over someone once. Just once. I’ll be damned, you even told me yourself that back in Kaer Mohren you rested while other witchers trained Ciri. So you will understand I’m referring to a certain enchantress. Now, you make the math. »  
Geralt had dismissed him with a bored « _hm_ ». Days later, though, he found himself going back to that dialogue over and over again. Dandelion was — and this wasn’t nice to admit — correct. He should have rested, valued every possible hour of sleep. War was always one single step away from their path and monsters weren’t far away either, not in these forests. Even one short reflex might have injured him or the rest of his company severely and their only healer was a deadly creature.  
But he did not. Oh, he did not. He waited for the night to fall and then talked and poured his heart out. Regis had been willing to reveal his past to him, and he felt able to do the same. He’d talk about his childhood, his training under Vesemir’s instructions, his mother even. He’d talk about things only Yennefer had ever known. And he talked freely, let his guard down, way too much for being alone with a higher vampire.  
Slowly, he’d started to understand what linked all those nights. Mutual trust, yes. Companionship, yes. Willingness to talk to another ancient creature who’d been through his own, personal hell and could somehow imagine or come close to understanding another’s. And something else: a growing warmth in his heart that told him he was being careless and he didn’t mind. He knew that feeling well. It had led him to saving Yennefer from an infuriated djinn at a time when everybody else would have backed down and cared for their own safety.  
He sighed and cursed silently. Geralt of Rivia, defender of innocents. Slayer of monsters. Once again dedicating his all to someone easily dismissable as a freak. _Yes_ , he thought, _Yen would have a laugh if she were here_.  
When night fell again, Dandelion shot him a piercing look before going to sleep. He rolled his eyes and ignored it. Then he sat on the edge of a rock, covered in muss, keeping watch on the fires that Nilfgaard spread on tortured cities just miles away. He didn’t hear Regis sit beside him; he never did. He just started talking when he felt the vampire’s unnatural, cat-like gaze on him and when he stopped it was already dawn.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has left kudos, bookmarked or left a comment. I know that this fandom is relatively small (compared to, for obvious reasons, fanon or canon ships which have already had screen-time in the tv show), so it's genuinely such a pleasure to know that even one person appreciates my work. Thank you.
> 
> This chapter was essentially introspection, which I felt was needed before skipping to another moment-in-the-hansa-life. As I already mentioned, my updates may be either very quick or very rare. It really depends a lot on real life and university. But I'll do my best to keep this fic going. I love these two dumbasses.


	3. 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, folks. First of all I am so so grateful to everybody who's been following this story, as weird and not-precisely-linear as it is.  
> This week you get a double drabble. I've been thinking of experimenting with genres - mixing longer chapters with drabbles or double drabbles, mixing action chapters with introspective ones and so on. I know that's not how traditional fics go, but the slice-of-life format allows me to mix things up a bit. Let me know if you guys like the idea!  
> Anyway, once again I don't know if I'll be able to keep updates regular due to uni and mental health issues and sadly I cannot promise much, but I do hope that y'all enjoy what I do manage to write and post.  
> That being said! The lyrics at the beginning belong to Buffy The Vampire Slayer's classic song _Rest In Peace_ (oh, what I'd do for a Geralt The Vampire Slayer AU art, if only I could draw! ahahah). Geralt is a dumbass. Regis is a shameless flirt. Nothing to add.

_You're scared_  
_Ashamed of what you feel_  
_And you can't tell the ones you love_  
_You know they couldn't deal_  
_Whisper in a dead man's ear_  
_It doesn't make it real_

—

It was a feverish dream and nothing more.  
He’d gotten wounded by a ghoul. Nothing heavy, fuck’s sake, just some blood on his face. Regis, being the professional he was, had insisted in his _perhaps_ overly kind offer of tending to Geralt’s wound, despite witchers’ well-renowned self-healing.  
_The scientific experience of a lifetime_ , he’d grinned, _healing a monster hunter_.  
Geralt had grunted till he’d said fine. After all, that way they’d be back on the road sooner.  
And what he was experiencing now was simply, scientifically, a feverish dream. The result of being physically hurt and mentally intoxicated by whatever the hell the vampire’s healing potions were. That— Geralt thought — explained his dizziness, his fragmented line of thought. That, _and that only_ — he thought — explained why, when Regis had shushed his protests by putting a finger to his mouth, he’d found himself unable to talk.  
That, and nothing more, explained why the scent of herbs so close to his face reminded him, in his almost-sleepy state of mind, of distant lilac and gooseberries.


	4. 4.

« Oh, gods, I’m sick of hearing your stories », Milva snapped, after Dandelion’s tenth consecutive ballad on the beauty of pure virgins. « Can anybody else tell a story for once? Geralt. You must have something. I’d take lore about troll piss over this stuff. »  
Geralt laughed softly at Dandelion’s offended expression.  
« Milva, my poetry— » he heard him say, just to be cut off by an abrupt « I don’t care ».  
« I’m afraid I haven’t got any happy tale to keep us company on the road, Milva. Regis, though, has four hundred years of experience. »  
The vampire winked at him — an annoying habit he didn’t seem to want to break. By _annoying_ , Geralt mostly meant it made him feel. And as such it was to be categorized under _annoying_ and dismissed. « I do. But I’m not sure you’d be interested in vampire legends, Milva. »  
« Why the hell not? » she shrugged. « As long as they’re not about pure virgins. »  
Regis smiled. « Not quite like our bard’s poetry, no. Have you ever heard of the lady Carmilla? »  
« I haven’t. Who was she? »  
« It’s quite a long story. »  
« I’m with Milva », Cahir said. « You’re not exactly taught vampire myths in the Empire. »  
« Nor in Kaer Mohren », added Geralt. « Whenever you please, Regis. »  
The vampire smiled. « Where could I start. There was once, far from here, a picturesque and solitary castle. In there lived a young woman, named Laura. When she was only six years old, Laura had an… evocative vision of a very beautiful visitor in her bedchamber. »  
Milva interrupted him with a loud snort. « This doesn’t seem that far from Dandelion’s poetry. »  
« Ah, but wait. Legends say the years went by ’till one fateful day a carriage accident outside Laura's home unexpectedly brought a girl of Laura's age into the family's care. Her name was Carmilla. You can guess it, the visitor from the childhood dream. The ladies grew to be very close — why, legends say they were lovers rather than friends — despite our mysterious Carmilla being… extremely secretive about herself, not to mention solitary. However, during Carmilla's stay, Laura had repeated dreams of a… creature entering her room. A monstrous, bat-like creature, with fangs and claws sharp as a razor. Sounds absolutely incredible, doesn’t it. »  
« Unbelievable, indeed », laughed Geralt.  
« In the dream, the beast always turned into a human figure at the end. That of Laura’s beloved. Coincidentally, it was after these nightmares that Laura’s health declined and her father had a doctor examine her — it must be said, against Laura’s own will. And whatever did they find? A bite on her breast, where the creature in her dream bit her. »  
« What happened then? », asked Dandelion.  
Geralt raised an eyebrow. « Weren’t you offended? »  
« Yes. Ten minutes ago. Regis, what happened then? »  
« At this point, says the legend, even though any living vampire would tell a different tale, Laura came to know a myth of her own. It was told to her that not many years before, a very beautiful young woman had, we could say, entirely conquered the attention of a noble lady living nearby. That lady had soon fallen ill, suffering the same symptoms as Laura. After consulting with a — and here comes the irony — doctor, yes, a barber-surgeon like myself, the noble lady had realized she’d been visited by a vampire. The realization had come too late and the noblewoman had died, letting the creature run free. »  
« This doctor knew his deal about vampires », observed Geralt, raising an eyebrow.  
« It wasn’t me, if that’s what you’re implying. » He winked again — and Geralt fought to keep the feeling in his gut away. Locked in a box, somewhere. _Away_. « Anyway, Laura came then to an understanding of her lover’s true nature and here’s where human lore and vampire lore differ. »  
« How? », Cahir asked.  
« According to human lore, Carmilla was killed, as she deserved. A stake was driven through her heart, and her head was cut off. I could say from experience that decapitation won’t kill a higher vampire, but that’s another matter. Human legend, as I was saying, claims that the body and head were burned to ashes and thus it ended. The protagonist of our story was free from her demoniac nightmare, at last. »  
« How does the vampire legend go? », said Milva.  
« Calling it legend is a bit of a stretch, now. I am familiar with the vampire Carmilla. One of the oldest of our kind. She is very much alive. She had songs composed in honour of her beloved, who stayed with her until her death. »  
« Laura died? »  
« Of old age, a long time ago, as many humans do. Her entire life was spent in the deeply joyful companionship of her loved one. Obviously, that’s not a truth that humanity was willing to share. Admitting that vampires and humans could be capable of sincere, non-destructive love… well, that would’ve been heretic. »  
« What’s of Carmilla now? »  
« She lives in peace. I have visited her at times. The company of a fellow higher one is appreciated. She was there for me when I lost certain so-called friends who’d enabled my blood addiction. »  
« I don’t get something, though. » Dandelion said. « Did she bite Laura? And why? Why would she hurt her?»  
« Bite her -- yes, that she did. Not in a lethal way, though, and definitely not in a hurtful or unpleasant way. That whole ordeal was entirely consensual. Once again, humanity twisted the story. Carmilla needed to become an enemy and so it was. But no. Laura had known for a long time about her lover’s nature. She had accepted it, treasured it even. It’s perhaps our sweetest tale. »  
There was silence for a bit, then Geralt spoke. « Thank you, Regis. That was beautiful. »

—

« So, why did you choose this story? »  
Regis looked at him. « Why not? It almost makes me think we’re not doomed creatures. As every good tale should. »  
« You’re not. » Geralt’s mouth spoke before his brain had time to think. Before he could easily, as he always did, dismiss his emotions and look the other way.  
Regis looked at him interrogatively.  
« You’re not », he repeated, « A doomed creature. I don’t know about other vampires. I’m sure about you. »  
Regis’s smile looked sad under the moonlight. « Perhaps you value me too highly, Geralt. Carmilla’s tale is one of love and love is not a luxury people like me can afford. »  
Geralt said nothing. But his head screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bloody kiss to anyone who's been reading, bookmarking and commenting. I love you all and you keep this story going.


	5. 5.

_« That the nights were mainly made_  
 _For sayin' things that you can't say tomorrow day. »_  
[Arctic Monkeys — Do I Wanna Know]  
  
—  
  
In retrospect, Geralt would’ve thought he should’ve acted way sooner. In retrospect, weeks from now, in an old elven cave he would’ve heard Avallac’h’s voice tell him he’d soon lose his companions and despite not wanting to believe in myths and prophecies, he would have felt the ache of an invisible knife stabbing his back. In retrospect, it would have all seemed foolish — his pride, his indecisions, his deep belief that nobody deserved to bear the weight of a monster like him, not even somebody who only apparently looked like a monster himself.  
But he didn’t know this, just a couple nights before the battle on the bridge of the Yaruga. For it was still August. The Autumn Equinox was still far away in time and its cruelty was unexpected and unthinkable. And the cold days after that were going to hit them one day were nothing but a dream now, a dream he’d forget as soon he’d wake up. And so, his unability to take action always prevailed; his pride always kept him stuck; his self-hatred always stopped his actions and his words halfway.  
Yes — he would have regretted not kissing Regis that night, just like he often regretted not holding Yennefer’s naked body to his just once more in Thanedd, just once before all hell broke loose. He would’ve kept an emotionless gaze in front of the elven sage while his mutated, wrecked heart pounded like a battle drum. But then again he was a witcher and he didn’t believe he was made to love.  
  
—  
  
The Yaruga was close. Close enough to make Geralt upset and troubled, his fears about Ciri worsening every hour and the shadow of Nilfgaard closing up on them as if to suffocate him. And yet again he found himself awake at night.  
« You should rest. »  
He scoffed. He hadn’t heard the vampire arrive, as per usual, despite his heightened senses. He caught himself wondering just how easily Regis could have beaten him in battle, if he’d wanted to. Way too easily, probably. The idea didn’t scare him one bit. « Pot calling the kettle black, Regis. »  
« You’re wrong, my friend. » Geralt could sense his smug smile without needing to look at him. « Higher vampires have a lesser need—. »  
He rolled his eyes. « Shut the fuck up and get to the core of your annoying monologue already. I’m not in the mood for your philosophy. »  
« There’s no monologue, Geralt. » His voice was softer than he’d expected. It caught him off guard. « I’m just worried about you. You’re more irritated than usual. You don’t let anybody talk to you. Not even Dandelion, who’s been by your side for — what? Twenty years? I’ve got no reason to believe you might wannna talk to me, but if you do, here I am. »  
Geralt sighed. « There’s nothing to talk about. Every day gets me further from Ciri and if she dies — do you understand that? If she dies, that’s on me. »  
« Every day gets you _closer_ to Ciri. Closer than you were the day before. »  
« It’s not enough and you know it. Empty positivity doesn’t work on me. Plus —.» He interrupted himself and stayed silent, looking at the leaves that had started to fall early and were lying scattered on the ground.  
Regis waited.  
« Plus », he continued eventually, « There’s a possibility I haven’t considered. »  
« And that is? »  
He wasn’t sure he wanted to talk. But there was something in the softness of Regis’ voice that led him to speak. « She might — oh, fuck it, it doesn’t matter. »  
« But it clearly does. »  
« She might », he said, lowering his voice to an angry and bitter whisper, « Not even care for me. And the truth is, I’d understand her. I’m not —. »  
« You’re not made to be loved and appreciated, you are meant to be alone and live alone and die alone as all witchers should, your fate is to spill your guts out on the road one day and never leave anyone who might suffer from it. Which is also why you conveniently believe your enchantress betrayed you on Thanedd despite not having such concrete evidence. Makes it easier, doesn’t it? ».  
When he spoke, he spoke angrily. « Don’t overstep, Regis. Don’t mention her or Thanedd. You weren’t there. » He paused, and when he opened his mouth again his anger had faded into some soft kind of caring, despite his best will to appear cold. « But you’re right. That’s why Ciri might, after all, be better off without me. »  
« Answer me this. Let’s admit your thought process is correct. You are meant to be alone and everybody else is better off without your presence in their life. In that case, why are we — no, I can’t speak for the entire party —, why am _I_ here now? Why would I, conscious of my identity, leave my safe routine to follow a careless witcher who might have as well killed me? »Geralt laughed a bit. « First of all, I can’t kill you. »  
« Care to try? »  
« No. »  
« Pity, would be interesting. Second of all? »  
« Second of all, you were bored. Easy as that. Everyone would be bored after four hundred years of life. »  
Regis smiled. « Maybe. But after the thrill of having you discover my vampirism had passed, what was in there for me? More boredom? Why stay with you? »  
« Listen », Geralt snapped — and turned to look at him, fighting to not disclose anything but annoyance —, « I don’t care if you think you care for me and you want to prove me that, what — that I’m not the one who has to be on his own, that my fears are unfounded, that Ciri —. You all think you care. And just like Ciri, you all shouldn’t. I abandoned her, Regis. I left her alone on that damned island. I wasn’t a good guardian to her, and I’ve never been able to be a good friend in my life. Leave it. »  
Regis was silent for an uncharacteristically long amount of time, before answering. He was silent, looking at Geralt’s face being wrecked by bitterness, anger, fear, self-doubt. He looked as if at a loss for words, which Geralt would have almost believed if it wasn’t _Regis_. « I don’t _think_ I care », he said eventually. « I _know_ I do. And it’s not your place to decide it. »  
« In that case, maybe you overestimate me as a person and as a —. » Geralt paused for half a second. « Friend. »  
« Or maybe, » — Geralt could’ve sworn he saw a glimmer in his eyes, if it wasn’t for the fact that vampires didn’t cry — « Maybe you just really haven’t understood a thing. »  
He could have kissed him then. For he had understood, he had understood all too well. And most importantly, he felt an ache in his heart that grew day by day. He could have kissed him and allowed himself some happiness, for it was the middle of the night and it was easier to make stupid mistakes at night. He could have kissed him and he almost did.  
But he was a witcher and he didn’t believe he was made to love. « I’m too tired for this. My head is pounding and letting things out didn’t do me any good », he said. « But thank you, Regis, for the company. And the talk. »  
  
—  
  
In retrospect, down in Avallach’s cave, he would have seen a world where he kissed him that night. Instead of waiting, instead of circling around his own feelings like a vulture ready to rip them off. A world in which he had wasted no time.  
But that world did not exist. The battle on the Yaruga left them facing death without having said a word to each other. It was only after that, when the reality of the dangers they were facing hit them on that bridge, that something changed.


	6. //  notes

Hello, everyone ❤️ This is a quick note to say that I haven't abandoned this story! I've been very busy but my love for these two dumbasses stays strong and I intend to continue writing about them 🌹


End file.
